Blood on Marble
by xxpoisonivyxx
Summary: Yami no Malik-sama likes pain and destruction. But most of all, he likes blood. Part IV of "Filling the Void" Dedicated to Neko-chan


PI: Yup, here it is. Part IV of "Filling the Void". And because Neko-chan asked for it, (_Damn_ I'm a sucker for the word 'please') here's…. Yami no Malik-sama!

Disclaimer: Me no own Yugioh.

Blood on Marble By: Poison Ivy __
    
    Blood. Thick and red, and oh-so pretty. Falling and dripping off of stone, collecting in pools and puddles.

Crimson life.

Taking the knife and cutting into the flesh, feeling the pain, sosososo delicious, coming on like waves—like tidal waves, unstoppable and fantastic. Magnificent. Taking the knife and cutting—always cutting—watching the blood flow off of bronze. Off of bronze and onto ivory. Ivory marble.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Taking the knife and cutting deeper, overwhelmed by the pain—the bittersweet pain.

Drip.

Flow.

Gush.

Dipping a finger into the puddle, and holding it up so it catches the light. Gleaming like a diamond.

Sparkle.

Glitter.

Shine.

They thought they could beat me. Me! They thought they could beat Ore-sama with their pitiful friendship and light. Fools! Don't they know? Don't they see? Friendship can be squashed. Light can be extinguished. And all that's left…and then there will be _nothing_ left. Nothing left but pain.

And blood.

Bringing the finger down on the marble, and watching the line it leaves, the trail of crimson.

Sigh.

Gasp.

Admire.

The fools thought they could _kill_ Ore-sama! They thought they could _trap_ Ore-sama in this marble prison. They thought wrong! Ore-sama will _never_ be trapped. Because Ore-sama will always have pain. Blood and pain.

Don't you see little ones? —little littletinybugs, squashed under Ore-sama's foot, pinned under Ore-sama's needle, flicked by Ore-sama's finger—don't you—don't you see? The pharaoh—the little one with the hard eyes like blood…soprettyprettyblood but so full of hatefulhateful light—is gone. The little one—thelittlestlittlest cockroach—is going. The angel—the one so bright and full of light it hurts Ore-sama's eyes to look at him—is dimming. Then it will be my turn.

Scream.

Run.

Cry.

Digging the knife in deeper, as the blood gurgles and purrs around the blade. The pool on the floor is bigger now.

Dipping my hands in the blood, watching it cover them. Drawing circles and patterns on the marble.

Squiggle.

Whirl.

Scratch.

What will you do little ones? Where will you run, where will you hide, when it's my turn? When my blood and pain finds you, and holds you fast, binding you still while I sup on your blood and drink in your pain?

You. Tomb Robber. Will you hide in the darkness? The blackness of black that you so love? Will you be consumed by you sanctuary, turning your silver—sososo like the blade of the knife, but now the blade is red, howhowhow did that happen? —locks into ebony? Will you just be and empty shell when I find you? Cowering behind your false façade of darkness, your title of yami?

Where will you all hide?

Run.

Scream.

Destroy.

I am the true yami. Made—fashioned like a suit, like clothing—out of darkness, out of true darkness and hate in someone's—who was it again? I _know_ this answer! IknowIknowIknow! —mind.

Bringing up my blood soiled fingers and hands to my mouth, feeling the copperycoppery salt on my tongue, swallowing the redredredness.

Lick.

Taste.

Drink.

The blood will never wash off. Nevernevernver. Ever try to wash blood off your hands tenshi? Tomb Robber? Little bug? Pharaoh?

Don't answer me. Bugs cannot answer. Insects cannot speak. And you are bugs and I will crush you all. Soon. Very soon. If you do not squash yourselves first.

*

Malik walked into his yami's room. It was one made of marble, and his yami had chosen it immediately as soon as they arrived in Egypt. Malik couldn't _stand_ the cold, and the always left Domino in the winter.

"Yami, it's lunch time!" he called as he walked in. his voice choked in his throat as he saw it. The blood. It flowed everywhere, in pools and streams.

"Yami! What did you _do_?" he cried, horror consuming his voice.

Yami no Malik looked up from his kneeling position on the marble floor.

Dark violet eyes blinked up innocently at light ones.

"Do, hikari?" Yami no Malik asked, looking slightly confused. Then his eyes cleared.

"Why," he gestured at the mess around him. "I drew you a picture hikari."

*

The blood is drying now. And soon that person—what was his name? —Will wash it off, using water to turn the blood from red to pink. But he'll never wash _all_ of it. There will always be dried blood left in the cracks. Just like you will never wash Ore-sama away.

Soon you will die. Soon you will all die. But not before I spill your blood and overwhelm you with pain.

*

"What's wrong hikari? Don't you like it?"

*

~Owari~

PI: Finished! So, Neko-chan, tell me whatcha think! I need reviews!!


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